Fearless Leader
by HaloFin17
Summary: A little scene in Trinity Church that the first movie never showed. Oneshot, Phil's POV. Do enjoy!


**Summary: **A little scene in Trinity Church that the first movie never showed. Phil's POV. Oneshot.

**Disclaimer: **Sorry, I still have no claims to ownership over anything or anyone here mentioned.

**Author's Note: **Well, here I am again with another quick oneshot idea that came to me as I was falling asleep a few nights ago. Seems to be the only kind of writing I really have time for nowadays, unfortunately. But without any further ado, I now present my second story for National Treasure, and I do hope my fellow Ian fans enjoy it!

**Fearless Leader**

It's been over an hour already. I shift uneasily on my feet and cast a sidelong glance at Viktor, who looks every bit as uncomfortable as I feel. Neither of us have ever been one to openly admit fear, but the eerie silence of Trinity Church, coupled with the gaping dark tunnel behind us and the rotten remains of Parkington Lane at our feet, is more than a little unnerving.

I move closer to him, my crunching footsteps sounding disproportionately loud in the stillness, so that even though I know we're alone, I drop my voice to a whisper.

"They've been down there a long time, and it's been a while since we've heard anything. I hope they're all right."

Viktor chuckles, but there is little humor in the sound. "I just hope they come back for us, if the treasure really is down there."

"Of course they'll come back for us," I respond at once. "Ian's always had our backs, Viktor, and you know it. He would never leave us here."

He only shrugs and says nothing more while I shake my head, bewildered. Leave it to Viktor to throw out such an absurd idea. We've worked with these men too long to begin doubting them now, and Ian the least of all. So why do I still feel like something's gone horribly wrong?

"Hey, Phil!"

I snap out of my reverie to find Viktor lightly slapping me on the shoulder. His attention is riveted on the narrow corridor.

"Listen," he urges me again. "I think I hear someone coming."

I strain my hearing, then concur. "You're right! And I can see a light coming our way." I point back down the tunnel, and he nods, silently drawing out his gun.

I mimic the action, but caution in a low voice, "Let's wait and see who it is."

And out of the dancing shadows and clinging cobwebs, two figures finally materialize.

"It's Powell and Ian!" Viktor sounds relieved, and to be honest, I'll be glad to get away from this place myself. I never have exactly felt comfortable in church.

At last, Ian emerges from the tunnel, sweaty and filthy, but still looking as fiercely determined as I've ever seen. Powell comes right behind him, and I clap my friend on the back as he exits, pretending not to notice how very weary he now looks. There is no sign of Shaw, though. Ian must have left him behind to guard Gates and his little entourage, as I see nothing of them, either. I can only hope that's a good sign.

"Well?" Viktor presses our employer. "Did you find the treasure?"

There is a long pause before Ian responds, and my hope sinks. I'm not at all surprised when Ian answers, "No. It was just another clue."

I am taken aback, however, by the sudden bitterness in the Englishman's voice. I've seen such examples of disappointment from everyone else over the course of this crazy quest, even from Riley and Gates himself when they were working with us. But never from Ian. He was always the one to pick us up and push us forward, inspiring us to action with renewed hope.

What could have possibly happened down there to bring about such a transformation? I'm not sure I really want to know.

"So, what now?" I venture as boldly as I dare.

"Gates says the next clue is in the Old North Church. We have to go to Boston."

"Boston?" Viktor echoes, but Ian only turns his back on us and begins to walk away.

"Ian, wait!" I call after him, fully aware of how foolish I'm about to sound, but I can't ignore the stubborn worry that's slowly gnawing away within my mind. It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to, and I don't like it.

"Ian, what about Shaw? We can't just leave him down there."

Ian stops, his back still toward me, but he doesn't answer. I turn to Powell, seeking answers, but he also drops his eyes, pointedly avoiding my gaze. My chest hurts, and suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

"Ian, where's Shaw?" The strain in my voice makes it sound strange, even to my own ears, as my growing panic becomes harder and harder to mask. When there is still no reply, I try again. "Where's Shaw, Ian?"

I see him exchange glances with Powell, who finally looks up to me and simply says, "It's a long way down in there."

"You mean he fell?" It's Viktor who finally breaks the next silence, his voice riddled with disbelief as he pushes past me toward the others. They won't confirm his blunt assessment, but they don't deny it either, and that's more than enough for me. Shaw is dead.

Still reeling from the revelation, I spit out a curse without remorse, then bite down on my lip until I'm sure it bled. This isn't supposed to happen – not to us! Ian's told us many times lately that this diverting little treasure hunt could turn deadly at a moment's notice, but somehow I always thought he'd been referring only to Gates, or whoever else might be working against him. But never us.

How does something like this happen, when Ian always seems to have everything so completely under control? I've never doubted him before, and I still don't. Whatever might have happened down there, I'm sure it was no fault of his. But it was never supposed to be like this.

None of us have moved, but Powell is still staring at me, and with my eyes, I beg him to tell a different story. But I know there will not be one. Powell is the oldest of us all, and he's seen a lot more of the world than I have, but even he can't keep the shock and sorrow from showing on his weathered face.

By all outward appearances, Ian appears to be handling it best. But he is a difficult man to read, as I've learned at my own expense during many a poker game, and if nothing else, my time with him these past few years has also taught me that Ian Howe is a complex character. Someone who didn't know him better would see only a heartless, driven man without a soul.

But I do know him, and when I finally catch his gaze, my heart turns sick. For the first time in my life, I see fear in the confident, calculating eyes of Ian Howe. I'd most certainly seen pain there before – even sorrow and regret, to an extent. But never fear. Shaw's death has rocked him like nothing else could ever have, and now Ian Howe is afraid – afraid for the rest of us who follow him.

He breaks contact with me then and starts to lead us out of the church, but my eyes never leave him – our fearless leader who has just lost his valued right-hand man and best friend of nearly twenty years. Of all of us, Shaw knew Ian the best by far, and I realize with a deep pang that even all of our combined efforts will never be able to replace him.

Shaw had worked with Ian the longest, and between the two of them, they had seen and done things that even my imagination still couldn't fully grasp. And no doubt there were plenty more stories that they had never told us, and now they never would. The bond Ian and Shaw shared had been unique, as had the way they worked together. But that had never bothered the rest of us, because their success was our success.

I feel sick – like the last thing I want to do right now is plow ahead into the next leg of this insane hunt. I'm even beginning to wish I'd never heard of the Treasure of the Knights Templar. But Ian won't turn back. To abandon the search now, after we've already come so far, would be an insult to Shaw's memory and would go against everything Ian himself stands for.

"The greater the price, the greater the prize." If even I'm familiar with the saying, then surely Ian is, as well. But dear God – is any "prize" worth _this_? That's why he keeps going, I think; why he continues to drive us onward. He doesn't want there to be time to reflect on the enormity of what's just happened – time to stop and think about the one who isn't here.

We step outside Trinity Church into the glaring sunlight, and Ian Howe looks the same as ever. I know he will be strong for us – will never let us see just how much Shaw's death has destroyed him. But I also know the tears will come, even if I never see them. I angrily fight back the sudden moisture in my own eyes and swallow hard around a growing emptiness in the bottom of my stomach.

Shaw is gone, and not for any treasure in the world would I want to be my fearless leader right now.

It's going to be a long and silent trip to Boston.

**Author's End Note: **What can I say? I like angst, lol. Later, everybody!


End file.
